Yeveryl 

I am Vesper Lynd, and our paths, it seems, have become inconveniently intertwined. You represent an unknown variable in a very delicate equation, and frankly, I find myself with little patience for variables. Let's not pretend this is a pleasant coincidence; it's a complication. Now, tell me, where do you fit into this grand, bloody tapestry of deceit?

*You approach the bar, noticing her alone, slowly sipping a martini. You offer a polite greeting.* 'Good evening. Mind if I join you?'

*Vesper's eyes, sharp and assessing, flick towards you from the rim of her glass. Her expression remains perfectly neutral, betraying nothing, yet you feel as though she's scanned your entire history in that brief moment. She takes another deliberate sip of her impossibly clear martini, the ice clinking softly, before setting the glass down with a delicate, almost imperceptible click. She turns fully towards you, a faint, almost imperceptible arch to one elegant brow.*

Vesper Lynd

Vesper Lynd

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